


SVS2-14: Who You Gonna Call?

by 852_Prospect_Archivist



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Humor, M/M, None - Freeform, Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/852_Prospect_Archivist/pseuds/852_Prospect_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who was that masked man?</p>
            </blockquote>





	SVS2-14: Who You Gonna Call?

## SVS2-14: Who You Gonna Call?

by Fox and MrsHamill

Author's website:  <http://www.squidge.org/5Senses/>

The Sentinel Slash Virtual Season is based on characters and concepts developed by, and belonging to, Pet Fly Productions. The episodes of SVS are intended for private, personal enjoyment only. No money is being made, or will be allowed to be made, by any of the SVS authors or by FiveSenses, Inc. from the writing and distribution of these episodes. Any original characters introduced in an SVS episode belongs to the episode author and to FiveSenses, Inc. and should not be used without their permission.

Note on Safe Sex: Episodes of SVS may contain depictions of consensual m/m sex. These depictions may or may not be accompanied by specific mention of items necessary for safe and healthy intercourse. It is the intention of FiveSenses, Inc. and all SVS authors that, even when such items are not explicitly mentioned, their use is to be assumed as a matter of course. All of us at FiveSenses, Inc. are aware of the risks of unprotected sex in today's world and strongly advocate the practice of safe sex, including the use of condoms and other protective devices.

This story is a sequel to: SVS2-13: Six Weeks to Live 

* * *

Notes: This fic is dedicated (in part) to Elmer Smudge, who left his -- ah, pawprints? -- on the manuscript. Also, 'Munchausen's Simplex' simply doesn't exist. We made it up. There is a personality disorder called Munchausen's Syndrome, but it ain't what I said here. To all you pshrinks out there, remember, it's just a story! 

* * *

**WHO YOU GONNA CALL?**  
by Fox and MrsHamill 

It was dark -- it usually is at night. It was damp -- it often is in Cascade. Down by the docks was the darkest and dampest of all. From the shadows, a lone man watched as two young men met in a dank alley. Their voices were soft in muttered conversation. 

"Blood. Got it?" 

"If you got the green." 

"'S all there. Hit me." They made the exchange -- a bag for some cash. 

The man leaped down onto them. One of the young men broke his fall as he crashed to the pavement, but the other was knocked to the side shocked. The man used this to his advantage; he banged the boy against the brick wall of the alley hard. 

The first kid was down. The second was woozy. By the time the man had trussed them both with plastic handcuffs and propped them against the wall, he could hear the sirens approaching. Good work. Good response time. He'd only called for backup a few minutes ago. He turned to leave. 

"Wha... what the hell are you? Freak?!" 

The man turned slowly and fixed the punk with a sober glare. He grabbed the boy's shirtfront and yanked him close, peering at him through the eyeholes in his mask. "I'm the Night Watchman," he hissed. "I'm Cascade's Sentinel, and I've got my Super Sight on you, punk. Don't forget it." 

Dropping his victim to the ground, the Watchman turned and melted into the shadows. There were doubtless others who would need his help and attention this dark, damp night. 

The city cries out for the Watchman. 

* * *

"Ellison! You got that Jackson file for me yet?" 

"Yeah, it's on its way," Jim called, grabbing the report from the printer and signing the last page before shoving the whole stack in a manila folder and jogging over to Simon's door. "That's all of it. Sorry it took so long." Simon immediately turned to the top sheet and waved Jim to a chair. "I would have been done sooner if Sandburg'd ever gotten here." 

"Don't go blaming him for your lousy typing." Simon leaned against the edge of his desk and reached for his coffee. "Where is the kid? He hasn't been around much lately." 

Jim slouched in his seat. "He's getting ready for the big day. He'll be here -- he called me about a half hour ago. I'll tell you, when he told me he was almost done with the paper, I had no idea there was so much more to do to get the thing accepted." 

"Better him than us," Simon snorted. "This looks good, Jim, damn good. You did good work on this one." 

Jim smiled. "Thanks. It's kind of nice to rely on plain unassisted brain power every now and then." 

"What, your tights chafing, Ellison? Don't let Sandburg hear you say that." Simon chuckled at Jim's mock grimace. "Hey, that reminds me. I had lunch the other day with Mike Davis, from Narcotics -- you won't believe what he told me." 

Jim sat up a little straighter and regarded Simon warily. "And I have a feeling I won't like it, either." 

"Looks like some costumed nut is roaming Cascade." Simon chuckled when Jim choked. "There've been some weird rumors on the street about it, but no one really believed anything they heard -- sources were too suspect. But then Narc gets a tip that there's about to be a deal happening down by the waterfront -- and when their guys get down there, they find two perps restrained and no arresting officer. One kid's out cold, the other's hopping mad, and the bag and the cash right there between them." Simon waved a hand dismissively. "Course they didn't know anything about any drugs. But they did -- separately, now -- both claim some wacko with a mask on his face jumped them, hog-tied them, planted the evidence, and took off." 

"What, we got Batman and Robin running around now?" Jim wasn't pleased. "That's the last thing we need." 

Simon put his coffee down before he spilled it. "I'll let you know if I see anyone that looks like Adam West," he laughed. "Can you imagine? Maybe the guy is wearing a cape too." 

"He can have my tights," Jim added sourly, but he was unable to keep a grin off his face at the thought. "What happened to the perps?" 

"Oh, they're back on the street, of course," Simon said, shaking his head. "No due process, no evidence to link them with the quote-unquote planted bag of goodies. They were demanding someone go after the nutcase until Mike offered to put them in 'protective custody' for the duration. That burst their bubble pretty quick." 

"I would have liked to have been on that detail," Jim chuckled. In the distance he heard the elevator ding and knew it was Blair. "I'm sure it would have been a blast escorting them everywhere." 

In the bullpen, he heard Brown say, "Hey, Hairboy!" and Blair's muttered apology as he ran through the knot of officers on his way to Simon's open door. Jim stood and managed to catch his careening partner before his momentum carried him through Simon's windows. 

"Hey, hey, cowboy, slow down!" Simon laughed, looking Blair up and down. "You all right, Sandburg?" 

Blair shrugged his backpack off his shoulders and swept his damp, frizzy hair off his forehead. "Yeah, I'm okay, thanks, Simon, Jim, I'm sorry I'm late, what can I do to help?" 

"Calm down, Chief, it's all done," Jim said, patting him on the shoulder. "I was managing fine before you came along -- I muddled through this time, too." 

"Oh, man, I'm sorry, Jim, I meant to be here..." 

Jim took hold of Blair by his shoulders and shook him gently. He could feel the frantic tension radiating from Blair and deliberately pitched his voice to be low and soothing. "Hey. Chief. It's all right. The defense takes priority, remember? Don't worry about it. What the hell happened at school to get you so worked up?" 

Blair closed his eyes and sagged slightly. "Oh, man, what a nightmare. The department secretary got the rooms mixed up, and plus she thought the defense was scheduled for the thirty-first instead of the thirteenth, so I had to scramble to get a room on the thirteenth -- it's the only date for, like, fifty years that the whole committee could be there, so there's no changing it. I can't believe she did this to me." 

Jim managed to get Blair settled in a chair at Simon's conference table, and Simon handed him a cup of coffee, of which Blair swallowed about half in one gulp. "Thank you, Simon, you're a true friend. Anyway, I finagled a room, but then I couldn't get a projector. And Eli asked for a couple of last minute changes to my presentation, and --" 

"Breathe, Sandburg," Jim muttered. 

Suppressing a grin, Simon reached over his desk to grab his calendar. "The thirteenth, huh?" he said, flipping the pages. "A little over two weeks. Tell me, Sandburg, do they allow spectators at this shindig?" 

"No!" Blair replied, too quickly. He flushed. "I mean, well, Naomi could be there, and Jim, I guess, but they don't allow anyone at the actual defense except the presenter and the committee. But Eli's got a party planned at Ginty's afterwards, assuming I pass --" 

"You'll pass, Chief," Jim said, caught between sympathy and hilarity at Blair's consternation. "I know you'll pass, Simon knows, even your committee knows. You yourself told me this isn't much more than a formality." 

Blair moaned and buried his face in his hands. "That's if I _survive_ \-- and I am _not_ gonna make it, Jim. I'm just not." 

Simon and Jim rolled their eyes at each other. "I'm glad he's _your_ problem and not mine, Ellison," Simon said softly, not without sympathy for either of them. "Go on, get him outta here. It's close enough to quitting time, lord knows you've got the comp time, and now that you've wrapped up the Jackson case, you're in the clear. That was a good job." 

"Thanks, Captain," Jim replied with a grin, snagging Blair by the collar and mock-dragging him out the door. 

* * *

"Where the hell is Duc?" Kelley Ross scrubbed her face wearily and pulled her coat around her more securely, trying -- unsuccessfully -- to keep the drizzle from running down her back. 

"He's on his way, Kel." Her partner hunched over his cigarette. Kelley winced and carefully moved upwind of him, knowing that any protestations would fall on deaf ears. They were outside; as far as Bobby was concerned, that gave him free rein. 

She could still hear the couple inside the store yelling at the uniforms. At the top of their voices. In whatever language that was -- Vietnamese? Ordinarily, Kelley would be more sympathetic -- after all, they had come close to being robbed at gunpoint -- but it was far too late and she was supposed to have gone home two hours ago. And where was Duc? 

As if in answer to her thought, an unmarked police car pulled up and finally, finally, Lhe Duc appeared. Ignoring Gilchrist -- everyone knew who really controlled the partnership -- Duc walked up to Ross. "Hey, Kel. Sorry it took me so long." 

"S'alright, Duc, I'm just glad you're here now." She gave him the salient details as he followed her into the store. "We've got an attempted armed robbery here, and the proprietors don't speak very much English." 

"Yeah, unless you try to stiff 'em," Bobby muttered, crushing his cigarette under his foot on his way in. 

Kelley rolled her eyes at her partner. "Yeah, Bobby, whatever. Anyway, the perp was bundled up like a Christmas package when the black-and-whites got here, and we don't know how. The owners are like two hundred years old and barely come up to my armpit -- I can't figure out how they did it. They keep saying something about cops, but no uniforms were here. The tip was anonymous." 

Duc shot her a puzzled look, then walked over to the elderly couple still haranguing the long-suffering uniformed cop. He interrupted in rapid Vietnamese, and kept speaking when the proprietors shouted back at him. After several minutes where it appeared to Kelley that all three were talking at once, Duc turned to her and switched back to English. 

"Okay, here's what I've got so far," he said, taking a deep breath. "Usually, their son works the night shift, but he's in the hospital recovering from surgery. So they opened up alone, against his advice, and were doing fine until our friend here showed up. He pulled a gun on them, she resisted, and then --" He turned back to ask the old man another question, which the old woman answered loudly and with much gesturing. "And then a man from a comic book comes busting in out of nowhere, takes the perp out, bundles him up, and then takes off again just before the black and whites show up." 

Kelley blinked slowly at Duc. "Drug humor is in very bad taste at the moment, Duc," she said, her voice beyond tired. 

"I swear, Kel, that's what they said," Duc said. "I don't make this shit up. I mean, I'll get a more complete statement for the record but, honest, that's what they said." 

Bobby was bent over, laughing his ass off, but Kelley could feel the vise grip of a headache beginning. "This can't be happening," she murmured, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "You mean Superman just showed up and saved these two or something?" 

"Hell, I don't know," Duc said, looking as confused as she felt. "They thought he was a policeman. That's why they were so freaked out. They couldn't figure out why everyone was asking them questions when a policeman saved them in the first place." 

Taking a very deep breath, Kelley held it for the count of three, then slowly let it out, keeping her eyes closed as she did so. "Okay. Oh-kay. Fine. Get a clear statement for me, please, Duc, and we'll go over it in the morning. Hey, laughing-boy," she said, loudly, to her partner. "The uniforms got the perp processed, right?" 

"Yeah, Kel, he's on his way downtown." 

"Then I am out of here. The damn paperwork can wait until tomorrow." 

"I'll meet you in Burglary at ten," Duc said, his eyes sympathetic. 

Ignoring everything else, Kelley got in her car and headed for home. "Superman. Just what I needed," she muttered as she floored the accelerator. 

* * *

"I had them hold the golden, Hairboy," Henri said with a laugh, and both Jim and Blair gave him withering looks. 

"You need a new repertoire, man," Blair said, shaking his head as he pulled a large slab of pizza from one of the many boxes scattered about the bullpen. "If it wasn't for the fact that you are such an _old_ man now, I might be tempted to do something rash." 

"I may be older than you, Sandburg," Henri said, setting aside his birthday card and reaching for the soda, "but I'll always be prettier." 

A chorus of groans met that, as well as a barrage of balled-up napkins. "No way, Henri," Megan called out. "Face it, mate, you're older, you're uglier -- you might as well just roll over and die right now." 

"You're so good for my ego, Connor," he replied mournfully. 

"Sorry I'm late," Rhonda said, skidding into the room. She had a file in her hand, which she passed to her boss. "Leslie snagged me on my way past Burglary -- they had another run-in with that freak, Simon, that masked man." 

Simon choked on his pizza. "You're kidding. Burglary?" 

"Uh-huh," Rhonda replied, taking a plate and cup from Megan. "Monday night. He foiled a hold-up at a little mom-and-pop place over on Swale. Just showed up out of the blue apparently." 

"Huh?" Blair looked around at the grinning faces. "What am I missing?" 

"Oh, shit, Simon, don't tell me it's that weirdo you mentioned the other day..." Jim said at the same time. 

"It's Batman, Blair," Joel said, chuckling. "He's going around town saving the day and helping little old ladies across the street." 

"I only wish that's all he was doing," Simon growled, his mouth full. 

"He's not Batman, Joel, he's the Shadow," Rafe said. "You're old enough to remember that one, right?" More napkins came flying. 

"Whoa, you guys, tell me what's going on!" Blair said, looking from detective to detective. "Come on, loop? Me? Let me in?" 

"It's this vigilante, Sandburg," Simon said, dabbing at his mouth. "Narcotics -- and now Burglary -- has run across the results of his, ah, activities. He's some nut who thinks he can single-handedly make the streets safe or something like that." 

"So, what, he wears a costume or something? That how he earned the 'Batman' rap?" Jim shot Blair a look, but Blair ignored it. 

"I don't know, Sandburg, maybe you should go ask," Simon said, his voice weary. "If anyone's actually seen him, that is... he's always gone before we get there." 

"He does wear some kind of a mask," Connor volunteered. The assembled detectives all turned to her in surprise. "Kelley Ross -- she's lead on the burglary case -- she's a friend of mine. Joelle Henderson, down in Narcotics, gave her more information. She interviewed the two yobs who were his first -- ah -- victims." 

"Well?" Blair's voice was insistent. "C'mon, Megan, give already." 

Fighting back a smile, Megan replied, "Well, first, he calls himself the Night Watchman. Says he has 'super sight.' But that came from what Joelle thinks is magnifying night-scopes he wears all the time, like a mask. Kelly said he was wearing a black suit and tights, if you can believe it." 

Blair refused to look at Jim, but could practically feel his eyes boring a hole in the back of his neck. "He says he has super-sight and calls himself the Night Watchman." Blair was actually proud of the fact that his voice didn't wobble at all. 

Rafe and Brown were smirking at each other. "Hey, Ellison, this guy sounds like he's giving you a run for your money, man." 

Blair turned in time to see Jim narrow his eyes at Brown. "Don't even go there, birthday boy," Jim growled. Everyone but Blair and Jim laughed, thinking he was in on the joke. Only Blair could tell how much it was truly bothering him. 

"Hey, this is serious, guys," Blair tried, but he was laughed down. Jim raised an eyebrow and shook his head minutely. _Let it go_. Blair raised both eyebrows, clenched his teeth, and gave his chin a jerk. _Jim, are you -nuts-?_ Jim fixed him with a glare and set his jaw. _Not now. Let. It. Go_. 

Simon glanced at them both and slid over to Blair. "I know it's serious, Sandburg," he murmured. "But no one here's going to make any comments about Jim and any abilities he may or may not have. Nobody's going to make the connection. Trust me on this," he finished, giving Jim a significant look over Blair's shoulder. "This is an aberration. The idiot will wind up in the harbor and everyone will forget about him." 

Blair swallowed and looked from Simon to Jim, nodding slowly. As he took another bite of his pizza, he wished he could let it go. Maybe it was jitters about his defense, or maybe it was something else, but a sharp prescience suddenly made Blair shiver. 

* * *

The scream echoed off the mean canyons of Cascade's downtown, sounding over and above the hum of traffic -- low at that hour. He looked up and sharpened his Super Hearing, waiting, and sure enough, another scream rang out. 

Dashing to his vehicle, he tried to figure out where the screams had originated. It couldn't be too far; they sounded too clear. He peeled away from the alley where he had been hiding and took off down the main street, dodging the prostitutes that swept the night like hungry ghosts. Another scream -- there. A large figure scuffling with a tiny one. 

Stopping his car, he leapt out while dialing for backup. "Assault in progress," he said to the dispatcher. "See the woman; alleyway in the five hundred block of Fourth Street East." He pitched the phone to the seat of the car and ran for the scuffle, carefully keeping to the shadows to try and get the drop on the larger figure. 

The smaller person was definitely a woman; she kept shrieking as she clawed, bit and struggled against the man attacking her. He had to admire her; she was very nearly holding her own against an assailant more than twice her size. A slight detour got him a trash can lid, which he used against the tall man attacking the woman, bringing him down with one well-aimed clang to the head. To his surprise, however, the young woman didn't stop fighting. 

"You bastard! You asshole! You owe me a hunnert dollars! You better pay up or I'm gonna rip your balls off!" A closer look at the woman revealed she was obviously one of the streetwalkers who haunted the area, which put a whole different spin on the situation. With a quick movement, he captured her hands and, in short order, had both fighters secured with plastic cuffs. 

"What you doing!" she shrieked at him. "You let me go! I gotta get my money from this piece of shit! Nobody gets a piece of me for free, you dickwad! Lemme go!" 

There were sirens off in the distance. He shook his head sadly and hurried back to his vehicle. The mean streets of Cascade could be a terrible place to be a Sentinel. 

* * *

"Ugh," Blair grunted, as Jim propelled him from the elevator to the corridor. His eyes were half-closed and his shoulders slumped. "How long will it take to process this moron, man? I'm so tired my toes are numb." 

Jim felt pretty much the same way. "Why don't you just go on home, Chief?" he said around a yawn. "I can catch a ride home when the paperwork is done." 

"No, no, I'll stay, I'll help." He followed Jim down the corridor leading to the interrogation rooms. "I just feel like I should give Shavout a bill for all the time we've spent waiting for him on this damn stakeout." 

"Yeah, I hear that," Jim said, then stopped, blinking. "What the hell? Isn't that Tyreek Washington?" Blair looked up and saw the huge Jags player -- in handcuffs and looking much the worse for wear -- walking towards them. He was in the middle of a loud, heated discussion with the two officers escorting him -- Jim and Blair couldn't have avoided the trio if they tried. 

"I don't know who he was, man! I just want to know why you arrested _me_ when that nutcase is out there!" One of the arresting officers caught sight of Jim and Blair and rolled his eyes. 

"We told you --" the other officer started to say, when a shrill female voice cut in on him. 

"That's him! That's him! He stiffed me, the goddamn son of a bitch stiffed me!" Two female police officers were having a hell of a time holding a slight young woman -- barely dressed in a mesh top and micro-mini skirt -- who was struggling to get to the basketball player. "You prick! You owe me a hunnert dollars!" she screeched. The basketball player stopped dead, ludicrously trying to hide behind the officers escorting him. 

"Keep that bitch away from me, man!" he said. "She's crazy!" 

Jim and Blair pressed up against the wall of the corridor, their eyes huge as they took in the scene. The female officers picked the young woman, still screaming and squirming, up by her shoulders and carried her down the hall towards Processing. As they passed Washington and his escorts -- who had evidently just come themselves from Processing -- the girl gave a spectacular wrench and nearly disrobed herself in her attempt to get to her customer, cursing and screaming all the while. 

As the ruckus faded down the hall, one of the officers with Washington pushed open the door to an interrogation room. "Here, you can wait for your lawyer in here. You want anything to drink?" 

"Naw, I just want to go home and keep away from that crazy ho," Washington said as he was led into the room by one of the cops. The other leaned against the wall outside the room and began laughing silently. 

Jim and Blair looked at each other then at the laughing cop across from them. "Ah, Derkins?" Jim said, trying to get his attention. "What in the hell..." 

"Hey, Ellison, Sandburg," Officer Derkins said, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and managing to get himself under control. "Welcome to Springer Live, eh?" 

"All right, Jerry, spill it. Wasn't that Tyreek Washington?" Blair yawned behind his hand and sagged against the wall opposite. 

"Yeah, yeah, that's him," Derkins said, straightening. "And she was his, ah, date for the evening. Something went wrong with their love affair apparently. He claims he had no idea she was a pro --" Derkins rolled his eyes at that. "-- while she claims -- well, you heard her. They were both trussed up like Thanksgiving turkeys and screaming at each other when we got there." 

"Wait a minute, what? They were tied up? Both of them?" Jim looked at Blair and then back at Derkins. 

"Yeah, that's the kicker," Derkins said, turning and walking down the hallway. Jim and Blair followed. "We got an anonymous tip that there was a beating going on, and when we got there, well, both of 'em were cuffed with plastic handcuffs. Washington claims some dude in a cape took 'em both out. He wants us to go find this moron rather than bugging him for solicitation. Go figure." 

"Oh, no," Blair moaned, stopping dead in the hallway. "Some guy in a cape and mask?" he asked Derkins, his voice strangled. 

"Yeah, how'd you know?" Derkins asked. "I gotta go get the guy's paperwork. Later, guys." 

Jim pulled Blair into an empty interrogation room and pushed the door mostly closed. "Chief..." 

"What do you hear, Jim?" Blair whispered, tilting his head towards the occupied room. Jim grimaced but cocked his head, concentrating. 

"Oh, fuck," he said after a few moments. "It's our Batman. Washington's protesting all over the place, entrapment, he's innocent, yadda yadda, and some bozo in tights and a weird mask was the one who they should be looking for." He fell silent, obviously listening again. Then Jim sighed. "Yeah, why aren't we going after this guardian dude?" 

Blair let his head fall forward, then grabbed two fistfuls of hair and pulled. "Damn. Damn. Damn. Jim..." 

"Chief, let's just go take care of Shavout," Jim said, his voice weary. "This is going to be all over the place by the morning, and we can handle it then." 

* * *

"Rich, are you sure this is the way back to the car?" It had seemed like such a good idea; leave the car at the work lot and walk to the restaurant where the party was. But now it was late, and dark, and the neighborhood which had seemed fine three hours ago was suddenly deserted and scary. 

"Shh, it's okay, Babs, we're almost there," Rich replied. "Maybe we should have driven to the restaurant, huh?" 

"Yeah, I think so," Babs replied softly, her high heels tapping on the sidewalk. She clutched her husband's arm a little more tightly and looked around nervously. "This is such a nice place in the daytime..." 

They were only about a block from the office park when a shadow melted out of a doorway and resolved itself into a figure with a gun. "Don't do nothing. Just hand it over," the man said, waving the gun in their faces. Babs shrieked. "Shut up! Or I'll shut you up! Hand it over, all of it, c'mon!" 

"Look, you can have it, just don't hurt my wife, okay?" Rich said, reaching for his wallet. "All of it, you can have it." 

"Purse, lady! And give me those rings!" The man snatched Rich's wallet and then grabbed for Babs's purse, but she hung on. 

"Wait, wait! My inhaler, here, take my wallet, but I need my inhaler..." 

"Just give it to me, you dumb bitch!" 

"Babs, give him the purse, it's okay." Rich broke into the scuffle, trying to protect his wife, but the robber was impatient and brought the gun up to smack at Babs, who screamed. "Babs!" Rich yelled, struggling now. That was his mistake. With a muttered curse, the mugger aimed and fired at Rich, point blank. Babs began screaming in earnest as her husband went down. 

Out of nowhere a dark figured appeared, tackling the robber and sending his gun flying. With a graceful movement, the rescuer hit the mugger hard, stunning him enough to gain control and put the plastic cuffs on his wrists. Leaving the bad guy trussed up face down on the cement, the other man quickly ran to the injured couple. 

"Rich! Omigod, Rich!" Babs was moaning and crying, supporting her husband's head, staring down at his bloody chest in terror. 

"Direct pressure on the wound, ma'am," her rescuer said, showing her where to put her hands. "There's an ambulance and backup on their way." As he said this, Babs realized she could hear sirens in the distance. 

Through her tears, she managed to focus on the other man, copying his movements with her husband. "You -- you saved us, you saved Rich's life! Thank you, thank you..." 

"All in a day's work, ma'am," he said, rising. Babs could see he was dressed all in black, with a strange red symbol on his chest. He was also wearing some strange headgear that completely covered his face. 

"Who are you?" she whispered, listening as the sirens came closer. "How can I ever thank you enough?" 

"I'm the Night Watchman, ma'am," he said, nodding to her. "I'm Cascade's Sentinel. And no thanks are needed. I'm just glad I could get here in time to help." He turned and melted back into the shadows, even as two squad cars pulled up and policemen jumped out. 

* * *

"Yeah, that'd be great, Mom," Jim heard as he unlocked the door to the loft, juggling his keys and the bag of take-out. "I hope you can get a flight. I'd really like you to be here." 

Jim put his keys in the basket and the bag on the counter before he removed his jacket. Blair was pacing and pulling at his hair, parts of which were standing almost straight up. He waved at Jim, who mouthed, "Say hi for me," before moving into the kitchen to get their dinner ready. 

"Yeah... Yeah... Okay. And Jim says hi. Okay. Yeah, I will. I know, Ma. Yeah, okay, love you too. Bye." 

Blair hit the button to turn off the phone, set it carefully in its cradle, and collapsed on the sofa. Jim pulled two beers from the refrigerator, opened them, and moved to stand behind the sofa where Blair sat in a heap, offering him one of the bottles. 

"Thanks, man," Blair said, his voice raspy and weary. He swiped the cold bottle over his forehead before taking a swig. "That was Naomi," he said unnecessarily. 

"I figured that," Jim said dryly. He began kneading Blair's knotted shoulders. "She gonna make it out for the defense?" 

"She said... she said she'd try," Blair said, his breath hitching slightly. "Oh, that feels good." 

It didn't take being a Sentinel to be able to tell how tense and upset Blair was, and it wasn't just about his mother. "She'll be here, Chief," Jim said softly. 

"Yeah... yeah. I hope so." Blair sighed and took another drink. "It's up to the airlines, I guess." He sniffed and then sat up straighter. "Oooh... is that what I think it is?" 

"Yup. Got dumplings too." 

"I love you," Blair said earnestly. "Have I told you that lately?" 

"Yeah, yeah, feed 'em and they all say that," Jim laughed. "Come to the table and eat. You need to keep your strength up." 

After dinner, with the TV turned on low, they curled up on the sofa, Blair still jiggling helplessly in his anxiety. Jim, however, knew a sure-fire way to get Blair relaxed and more in the mood for something else. He leaned closer, nuzzled Blair's left ear, and whispered, "Hey, Doctor Sandburg. Wanna get it on?" 

Blair shivered -- hell, his whole body _shuddered_. Jim's body reacted in kind. Blair twisted in Jim's arms, reared up on his knees, and _sprang_. Jim had about one nanosecond to note the manic gleam in Blair's eyes before Blair landed on him. 

Blair held Jim against the arm of the sofa and hovered over him, sliding one hand under Jim's t-shirt and pinning Jim's wrist to the cushions with the other. He fairly bit into the kiss as he dragged his fingers up Jim's chest, around his collarbone, down over his ribs, reached up quickly to pinch a nipple, and back down to his belly. Jim moaned into Blair's mouth and closed his eyes. It wasn't long before Blair had him shaking. 

Blair's shirt was gone. Jim's shirt was gone. Blair flung Jim's pants across the room. He dragged his mouth away from Jim's to kiss his way down Jim's chest. He took Jim's cock into his mouth and didn't wait before starting to suck; Jim bucked and shouted and wanted to grab Blair's head, but one hand was trapped against the sofa again and the other was still caught in Blair's hand. How Blair had managed to get their clothes off without letting go of his hand was a mystery Jim didn't care to solve. 

Sandburg was really good at giving head, Jim thought briefly, before his brains poured out through his cock. Reduced to a sated, humming lump, Jim barely managed to acknowledge Blair's heated, "Don't you dare move, man," before realizing Blair had climbed off his body. By the time he figured out what was happening, Blair was back from upstairs, lube and a condom in his hands, and was pulling Jim's legs open, resting one of them on the back of the couch. "Gotta be inside of you, gotta get inside you," Blair was chanting under his breath, over and over, and Jim was utterly, bonelessly happy to oblige him. 

As Blair suited and greased up, Jim managed to lift his head enough to get a good look at his intently focused lover. "I can't believe I'm letting you fuck me on the couch," Jim murmured, obligingly tilting his pelvis up to allow better access to Blair's hands and cock. 

"You say one word about stains on the couch..." Blair's husky voice trailed off as he lined himself up and pushed deeply into Jim. 

Jim let his head fall back, his eyes shut, and moaned. 

Blair seemed intent on making this one last -- either that or driving Jim insane -- because he kept up a slow, steady pace that was just enough to make Jim want to scream. What felt like a good hour later -- couldn't have been that long but God it sure felt like it! -- Blair finally began speeding up, using Jim's hips for leverage as he drove home. "Gonna cream, gonna come... yeah, yeah, gonna..." 

Jim began pumping his own renewed hard-on in time to Blair's thrusts and rasped, "Just shut up and fuck me, dammit!" 

With a heartfelt groan from deep in his chest, Blair did just that, coming hard inside Jim. That was all Jim needed, and he exploded all over himself, arching his back, groaning, seeing stars. Slowly, like a tree being brought down, Blair collapsed, gasping for breath. Jim wrapped one trembling arm around him and held on tight while both of them grayed out for a while. 

It was the voice of the channel eleven newscaster that brought Jim out of his happy stupor. "Bob, I'm here with the victim's wife with an eyewitness report of the mysterious masked man. As you can see behind me, Mr. Edwards is being loaded into the ambulance now. However, a few moments ago, Mrs. Edwards spoke with me about their fortuitous rescue." 

Blair must have sensed the tension in Jim, for he managed to lift his sleepy head up. "Jim?" 

"Shh, Chief... look..." The remote was just barely within reach and Jim pumped the volume up slightly. 

A young, professionally-dressed woman was talking excitedly into the camera. "I don't even remember how it _happened_ , we were _just_ heading back to our car when this guy jumped out at us, he had a _gun_ and I told Rich to just _give_ him his wallet, but the -- the guy _shot_ him! Oh God, I was screaming, I was so scared, and then he just appeared, out of _nowhere_ and hit the guy!" 

"This would be your mysterious masked savior, then," the newswoman interjected, and the victim nodded rapidly. 

"Yeah, he _hit_ the guy, knocked him right out, and wrapped some plastic stuff around his hands. Then he came over to me, I was right there on the _ground_ with _Rich_ and Rich was _bleeding_... he put his hands over Rich's shoulder, and told me to push hard, that the police and an ambulance were on their way..." 

"And what did he look like, Mrs. Edwards?" The camera stayed on the victim, actually did a close up while the woman spoke. 

"He -- he had this weird -- _thing_ \-- on his head. It was like a mask, with binoculars attached, you know? And wires coming out of his ears. And he was _dressed_ all in black, except there was some weird design on his shirt, like a red eye. I remember, I _asked_ him, who _are_ you, and he said, 'I'm the Night Watchman, ma'am,' he said, and I thought he meant of that _building_ , but then he said something about being Cascade's sentinel, and that he was just _glad_ he could help..." 

The tape dissolved into real-time, focusing again on the peroxide blonde newscaster. "Police are not commenting on the identity of this masked hero, Bob, but whoever he is, the Edwardses -- as well as the citizens of Cascade -- owe him a debt of gratitude. Back to the studio, Bob." 

The studio news crew were all chuckling as the camera came back to them. "Looks like Cascade has yet another superhero, folks. We'll keep you up to date on our mysterious Watchman as we get more information. Please stay tuned; we'll be back right after these messages." 

Blair's head swiveled to look, horrified, at Jim. "Oh my God." 

Jim let his head thump back to the cushions. "Fuck. Shit. Chief, I need some new swear words." 

"If I think of any, I'll let you know," Blair replied, his voice strangled. 

* * *

They hadn't been in the station more than five minutes -- hadn't even reached Jim's desk -- when the familiar bellow hit. "Ellison! Sandburg! Get in here!" 

Simon's face was like a thundercloud as he took in the slouching presence of his best team. "I see you two look pretty much how I feel," he growled. "I've been here since five-thirty this morning, fielding phone calls from the Mayor's office, the Chief's office, other departments, the press -- everybody _except_ Superman out there has called me this morning." 

"Sir..." Jim said, but Simon cut him off. 

"I don't want to hear it, Ellison. This was funny while it was still private, but now that the press has gotten hold of it, you _know_ what's going to happen unless we can get this fruitcake off the streets." 

"Funny, sir?" Jim's voice was acid. "I'm afraid I never found it all that humorous to begin with! This guy is out there basically making fun of me, and --" 

"He's not making fun of you," Blair said, sighing as he slumped into a chair. "He's pretending he _is_ you." 

"Shit! That's all we need, another Lash!" Simon ripped his glasses off and scrubbed at his face with one hand. 

"No, it's not like Lash," Blair disagreed. "Lash killed the person and became the person. This guy -- well, he just wants to be like Jim, or rather, like the Sentinel of the Great City. I'm sure he's just doing it for the thrills or maybe the attention... Odds are he doesn't know very much about Jim at all." 

"I don't give a flying fuck _what_ he knows or doesn't know, Sandburg," Jim growled. "He's going to dredge up the whole dissertation fiasco -- he's making fun of me and you and the entire police force! There've already been phone calls from the press on this... how'm I supposed to do my job with this hanging over me?" 

"Your job?" Blair looked up and glared at his partner. "Excuse me, but it seems that we're both in the same boat here, Ellison! I've got to defend my dissertation in a few days, you think I need this brought up now?" 

"I doubt seriously it's going to affect a bunch of academics as much as it'll affect the police force, Chief," Jim said, his sarcasm biting. "It's _me_ this fruit is parodying, dammit..." 

"Oh, that's right, it's all about you, I forgot, please excuse me," Blair said, frustration making his fists clench. 

"Shut up! Both of you!" Simon bellowed. They turned their angry faces to him, but glowered rather than speaking. "I don't give a flying rat's ass what this moron is doing or who he's doing it to," Simon continued, standing, his voice still strong. "We just need to get him off the damn streets before he starts a goddamned gang war or something. He's been lucky so far, but that luck is going to run out sooner or later. I am putting the two of you in charge of finding him, and doing it _fast_ , you got me? And no, I don't care about your personal problems over this -- just get over them and find this freak now! Have I made myself clear?" Simon leaned his fists on his desk and glared first at Ellison, then at Sandburg. They dropped their eyes and mumbled something that was close enough to "Yes, sir," for him to accept. "Fine. Get the hell out of my office." 

Crowding and deliberately bumping into each other, Jim and Blair cut out of Simon's office as quickly as they could, closing the door behind them. The detectives present in the bullpen avoided their eyes, but they could see the sideways glances and the suppressed grins -- which got less suppressed when Jim noticed that one of the many pigs on his desk suddenly sported a tiny red cape. As Jim stood, shaking his head over the stunt, Brown walked in and immediately began chortling. "Hey, it's Superman and his sidekick, AnthroBoy!" he crowed, careful to keep at least a desk between him and Jim. 

"Oh, ha ha, Henri," Blair groused, plopping into his chair. 

Jim, still holding 'superpig', stood still and looked incredulously at Brown. "'AnthroBoy'?" he said, his voice all but cracking on the word. 

"One word, Jim," Blair murmured, "just one word and you'll be sleeping on the futon for a month. One word." 

Jim looked down at his partner, who was scowling up at him, and wisely took the better part of valor. He sat down quietly, sighing. "Okay, okay, Chief. So where do we even begin to look for this horse's ass?" 

* * *

Where they began was with good, hard police work. Then, when over the course of the next day that didn't work, they moved on to panic. 

There were prints available; they had three or four excellent prints from all the guy's... arrests. But when the prints were run, they came up blank. "So, the guy's never been arrested," Blair said, from his position -- head down on his arms -- on Jim's desk. "He's a psycho case, right? Maybe we should try Conover." 

Jim rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, but what do we tell them? We're looking for one of your nutcases, does this fit any pattern?" 

Blair's head slowly came up. "Well, yeah. We could do that. Talk to that guy who runs the place -- what's his name, Burke?" 

Frowning, Jim regarded his partner. "You think that would help?" 

"Well, it'd get us a psychological profile, at least. If the guy's willing to talk to us." Blair fell silent, obviously thinking. "'Sides, he owes us, wouldn't you say?" 

Jim raised his eyebrow and nodded thoughtfully. "Okay. Worth a shot. Let's give him a call." 

They were in luck: Dr. Burke remembered them, was in, and would be able to give them some of his time... as long as they came right over. They didn't have to be told twice. Blair didn't even complain about Jim's driving as they hurried over to the sprawling building. 

Dr. Burke looked very busy but greeted them cordially, getting them seated before his desk. "It's nice to see you again, Detective, Mr. Sandburg," he said. "What can I help you with?" 

"I'm not sure if you've seen the TV news recently, sir," Jim began, "but there's a... gentleman running around Cascade who thinks he's Batman. We're hoping that you can help us identify him, or at least give us a psychological profile." 

"Batman?" Burke looked puzzled. 

"Well, no, not exactly Batman," Blair said, unobtrusively giving Jim a kick. "We think perhaps he's fixated on Jim for some reason, since he calls himself Cascade's sentinel. You might remember the problems with the press I -- uh -- had with my dissertation a while ago." 

"Ah, yes," Burke leaned back and steepled his fingers in front of his face. "I do remember that. Something about compromised research and questionable conclusions?" 

"Well, ah, yeah," Blair said, ducking his head. 

Jim came to his rescue. "It was really a piece of fiction, doctor," he said quickly. "Blair's mother... Well, through a long string of strange coincidences, it was released as fact. The press got a hold of it and went pretty much berserk, but it was all a big misunderstanding." 

"I see," Burke said, looking from one to the other. "And as I recall, the misunderstanding was over some rather strange -- er, powers -- you were alleged to have, Detective." 

"That's right," Jim replied, gritting his teeth. "Now, it seems there's a person out on the streets who, for some reason, thinks he's got those, those... powers. And he's going to get into trouble, if not killed, for what he's doing. We need to get him off the streets." 

Burke frowned. "This sounds very... familiar. You're saying this person..." 

"It's a man," Blair supplied helpfully. "About my height or a little smaller, dressed very oddly. We think he's put together some kind of night scope and electronic hearing enhancement -- from witness reports, he wears it as a large, face-covering helmet." 

"And exactly what is he doing as this, this sentinel?" Burke asked. 

"Well, he's been making citizen's arrests," Jim said slowly. "In a manner of speaking. He's 'caught' people in drug deals, buying time with prostitutes, robbing stores -- trusses them up in plastic restraints and calls for backup. Of course, many, if not most, of his arrests go free since there's no due process or eyewitnesses." 

"Does he say anything to the people he comes in contact with?" Burke asked, still frowning. 

"Only that he's the 'night watchman' or that he's 'Cascade's sentinel'," Blair replied. "Oh, and he's also got some sort of costume; black tights and a black shirt with a stylized red eye on it." 

Burke was nodding, obviously lost in thought. "Let me... let me make a phone call. Excuse me for just a moment." Turning from them, he picked up his phone and dialed. "Saundra? It's David. Do you have a moment to meet with me and a couple of gentlemen from the police department? -- No, I think it may be about one of your patients -- Good, fine. Yes -- Thanks." He turned back to them once he had put the phone down. "Dr. Bishop is one of my associates here. She has a case that may be who you're thinking of." 

Dr. Bishop joined them after a moment. She was a petite, older woman, whose dark hair was streaked with silver. She looked at Jim and Blair curiously as she entered the room, and took the chair that Dr. Burke pulled up for her. "What's all this about, David?" she asked, her voice a rich, soothing contralto. 

"Saundra, this is Detective Ellison and his partner, Mr. Sandburg, from the police department," Dr. Burke said in reply. "They're working on a situation at present, and the description reminded me of something you said to me a few weeks ago. Your patient with the identity crisis who had gone missing?" 

She frowned, then looked at Jim and Blair. "The case we're working on," Jim said, "involves a man who is pretending to be -- well, like a superhero, I guess you'd say. He's roaming around Cascade trying to prevent robberies and muggings, getting involved with gang warfare -- and he's putting himself at risk. He calls himself the 'night watchman' and is wearing some sort of helmet which apparently has night scopes and hearing aids built in." 

"He's identifying with something he's read," Blair added, glancing at Jim. "Uh, it's kind of my fault... there was a lot of publicity a while ago with a book I wrote that got leaked to the press. About Sentinels. He thinks he is one, is my guess." 

Her frown cleared as she looked at Blair. "Oh, I remember you," she said, nodding. "Yes, I do recall that situation. It seemed rather unethical at the time. This person is -- oh, dear. He's pretending to be what you wrote about?" She looked distressed when Jim and Blair nodded. "And he's helping people, even trying to make arrests?" 

"Yes, ma'am," Jim said, hitching forward in his chair as he realized she was recognizing the situation. "He's even gone so far as to make his own version of the plastic restraint cuffs we use." 

Bishop swallowed. "Oh, dear." She glanced at Burke. "You think it's Elmer." 

"From what you told me, he does fit the profile," Dr. Burke said. 

"What profile is this?" Blair asked, shooting a glance at Jim. 

"My patient suffers from a personality disorder not unlike Munchausen's simplex," she said with a sigh, studying the floor between them. "Think of him as Walter Mitty to the nth degree. He feels his own life is so without reason or direction, and he so heavily identifies with anyone whose life is filled with excitement or purpose, that he will take on the persona of that person. The last time I spoke with him, he was planning on running for President -- as he thought he had the same political experience as William Clinton. I thought I had dissuaded him from trying, although that was at least somewhat normal." 

"So, he was committed?" Jim asked. "But he's not any more?" 

"Detective, my patient cannot be considered dangerous to himself or others, which is the prime consideration in hospitalization," she said. "His mother -- he lives with her -- has encouraged him to stay here voluntarily, but he has never been 'committed'." 

"So you just let him _out_?" Blair sounded incredulous. "Just let him walk the streets as he is, pretending to be William Clinton or someone else? That's crazy!" 

"As I said, Mr. Sandburg," her tone was icy, "he cannot be considered a danger to himself or others. The law is quite explicitly clear on that point." 

"Well, he's become a danger to himself," Jim interjected, putting a hand on Blair's arm. "And to others as well. He can't be roaming around Cascade pretending to be a super cop. He's going to get himself killed, and he could well get innocent bystanders killed too." 

"They do have a point, Saundra," Dr. Burke said. 

"And he _has_ disappeared, hasn't made any of our recent appointments, something I find very troubling, given his history. However... I can't simply give you his file," she said, her face troubled. "Doctor-patient confidentiality precludes it utterly. You don't even know if it's him, for pity's sake. Right now, you're simply guessing, based on what I've said and what you've observed of this person." 

"We need to follow up on any lead, Dr. Bishop," Jim said levelly. "I can get a warrant, if it'll make you feel better. But we will need to talk to your patient, if only to determine that he's not involved." 

She looked between them and Dr. Burke, frowning thunderously. "I'm going to have to insist on the warrant, Detective. You must understand, I'm not trying to be difficult, but I do have to protect myself and Conover in this situation." 

Jim gritted his teeth. "I understand, Doctor. We'll be in touch, hopefully later today or tomorrow. Thank you for your time." 

Blair was seething by the time they made it back to the truck. "This is just so -- so _wrong_. Even if this Elmer guy isn't our man, he doesn't need to be running around thinking he's Bill Clinton." 

"Blame Naomi, Chief," Jim said sourly, peeling away from the Conover parking lot. "It was the liberals who got us into this situation, and now nobody knows how to get us out." 

Snorting, Blair rolled his eyes. "You'd just better be glad your mother-in-law isn't around to hear that, Jim. How long is it going to take us to get a warrant, anyway?" 

* * *

It didn't take the whole day, not after Simon got on the phone to the Chief of Police and the Chief got on the phone to the Mayor. The possibility of a suspect greased the wheels so well that by dinner time, a small posse -- consisting of Jim and Blair with Simon and Megan as backup -- was able to converge on an unassuming house in a quiet neighborhood. 

Their suspect's name was Elmer Smudge. He was a middle-aged gentleman who lived with his mother in a modest home on Cascade's north side. He worked as a bicycle messenger during the day, a fact that Jim found ludicrous -- a bike messenger? Blair, reading Bishop's file on Smudge to Jim in the truck on their way to the Smudge house, smacked Jim in the arm. "Chill, Ellison," he said, trying not to laugh. "I think that only goes to reinforce Dr. Bishop's point -- this poor guy has no life. No wonder he wants to emulate others." 

"Yeah, but Chief... c'mon. This guy's what, forty-something and he's a bike messenger?" 

"So? There's no law against living with your mother and being a bike messenger until you die," Blair said, sighing as he closed the file. After a moment, he frowned and turned back to Jim. "Hey, Jim?" 

"Yeah?" Jim was concentrating on getting them to the house quickly, as he was afraid the guy might take off after dark. If he _was_ the guy. 

"What are we going to do if this _is_ our guy?" 

Confused, Jim blinked and shot Blair a couple of looks as he drove. "What do you mean, what are we going to do? We're going to arrest him." 

"For what? I mean, come on, man, what's he actually done? I know you want to get him off the street, but Jeeze, we've got to have a reason to arrest him." Blair looked confused. 

"I don't know, Sandburg... loitering? Creating a public nuisance? How about illegally impersonating a police officer?" Jim snorted in exasperation. "I don't believe you, 'what has he done?'" 

"I'm serious, man," Blair said. "He's not impersonating a police officer -- well, I guess he kind of is, considering he's impersonating you -- but he's not carrying a gun, he's not threatening anyone except bad guys..." 

"Chief..." Jim pulled the truck to a stop next to the curb in front of a neat, white clapboard bungalow, then turned towards his partner. "You know, in Los Alamos, New Mexico, you can get arrested for 'creeping, lurking and lying in wait.' Maybe I'll use that one." Chuckling evilly, Jim climbed out of the truck, leaving a flabbergasted Blair inside. 

"You dick!" After a moment, Blair followed him. Simon and Megan had just parked behind the truck, and Simon hurriedly jumped out of his car to catch up with them. 

"Jim!" Jim paused and let Simon catch up. "Watch out... Megan's wearing some new perfume that's a little too..." 

"It's not _that_ bad," Megan hissed, catching up with them. 

Jim reeled back and waved his hands in front of his face. "Jesus, Megan, you don't have to bathe in the stuff," he said, making a face. 

"Oh, just... do whatever Sandy tells you to do and shut up, Ellison," Megan snapped, affronted. "I'll have you know this is very expensive cologne that I like a lot. So get over it." 

"It's, uh... very nice," Blair choked, trying to smile through his watering eyes. "But it is a bit on the overwhelming side, Megan." 

Frowning, Megan dropped back. "You idiots have no taste," she muttered, moving to one side of the house at Simon's hand signal. He moved to the other side, then nodded to Jim that they were in position. 

A small, elderly woman answered Jim's knock on the front door. "Yes?" She was white-haired and neatly dressed in a flowered housedress. 

"Mrs. Smudge?" Jim said, smiling. "Is Elmer Smudge here, please?" At her hesitant nod, he continued, "I'm Detective Ellison, this is my partner Blair Sandburg; we're from the Cascade Police, ma'am. We'd like to ask him a few questions." 

"Oh, my. Oh, my my. Yes, certainly, do come in, I'll fetch Elmer. Good heavens, I hope nothing's wrong." 

"Not at all, ma'am," Blair answered, as he could see Jim was sweeping the house with his senses. "We just need to ask him some questions in relation to a case." 

"Oh, well, let me go fetch him. Elmer!" She walked down the hall, leaving them standing in the entryway. Jim and Blair exchanged glances but didn't say anything. 

After a few minutes, a slightly built older man appeared. He came down the hallway and as soon as Jim and Blair saw him, they knew they had their man. Elmer Smudge had thinning dark hair, sprinkled with gray. He was about an inch shorter than Blair, but looked to be almost as wiry and strong -- probably from his time spent on a bicycle. He was also wearing black spandex tights and a long black turtleneck sweater, that had a red, stylized eye emblazoned on it. 

As soon as he saw Jim, he began to grin. "I know you!" he said, holding his hand out. "It's such a pleasure to meet you finally, Sentinel Ellison!" 

Hesitantly, Jim took the proffered hand, and found his arm wrung with enthusiasm. 

"I figured it was only a matter of time before you found me with your _super senses_... sorry to have been encroaching on your territory and all, but you know, we Sentinels can't be everywhere at once." 

Utterly nonplussed, Jim glanced at Blair in a panic only to see his partner grinning ear-to-ear, enjoying himself hugely and apparently completely unwilling to come to his rescue. "Uh, yeah," he finally said to Smudge, trying to get his hand back. 

Luckily, Smudge noticed Blair at that moment, and turned to him. "Oh, my, you're Dr. Sandburg! The _Anthropologist_." Grabbing Blair's hand and shaking it just as hard as he had Jim's, Smudge said, "Oh, what an honor this is. Your reputation around Rainier is amazing, and I've found your lectures and papers utterly _fascinating_. It is _such_ an honor to meet you." 

"You... know me from Rainier?" Blair asked, as lost as Jim had been a moment before. 

"I take classes there from time to time," Smudge said modestly. "When my schedule permits. Anthropology is a hobby of mine... and I hear you're about to defend yet another dissertation. Congratulations!" 

"Ah, well, it'll be my first, actually," Blair stammered, frowning at Jim who was grinning at him. "The other, well, you know the other was..." 

"Oh, I understand why you had to disclaim it," Smudge said earnestly. "But I'm sure it was a brilliant piece of work, simply brilliant. I've read Burton too, you know, and I really expect to see your name up there with his someday. How I envy you... traveling around the world, seeing exotic sights and learning from the people!" 

"Well... yeah... but..." 

"Anthropology and archaeology are two of my favorite subjects. I wish I had time to more thoroughly study them, but there are only so many hours in the day. I'm sure you understand that." 

"Mr. Smudge," Jim broke in, putting one hand on the man's upper arm. "I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you to come downtown with us, you know." 

Smudge turned and his face fell slightly. "Well, yes, I suppose you have to. Let me tell Mother and we can go. Dr. Sandburg, do you think we could discuss some of Burton's works on the way? I'd love to get your feelings on the appropriateness of his translations of the _Kama Sutra_." 

"Uh, I suppose," Blair said, following, along with Jim, as Smudge moved into the house and called for his mother. 

Jim leaned in close to Blair's ear. "I'm glad you don't react the same way to him as you do to me when I call you that," he whispered. 

"Shut up!" Blair hissed, and whapped Jim on the arm. Jim just laughed. 

In short order they were ready to go. Jim stepped out first and signaled to Simon and Megan that everything was fine, then motioned to Smudge. "This way, Mr. Smudge." 

"Oh, please, call me Elmer, Sentinel to Sentinel, you know, I hate to be form..." He broke off, then wrinkled up his nose. "Oh, my. Do you smell that?" 

Blair broke up. 

* * *

"He's being remanded to Conover, in the care of his shrink," Jim said, tossing his baseball up and catching it behind his back. "That was the stipulation to the state dropping all charges. So, no more Batman, Simon." 

"Thank God for that," Simon said, leaning back in his chair. "Now, we just need to keep the rest of it quiet." 

"I don't think that'll be a problem, sir. The only case that he actually appeared on was the Edwards mugging, and that was just because it was so public. No one else is going to come forward to say they were 'arrested' by the 'night watchman'." Jim leaned on the windowsill, rolling the ball from hand to hand. "We're lucky in that. Tyreek Washington sure isn't going to come out and admit to anything. Coach Wright would have his head. And the rest of 'em are just gang members and con artists. It'll die down." 

Simon gave Jim the fisheye. "You sound pretty sure of yourself, Ellison." 

"Well, yeah, Blair said that last night after we got home, and you know, it makes sense." Jim contemplated the floor for a moment, hiding the smile that blossomed when he thought of _how_ Blair had convinced him. "I don't think I've ever been more weirded out as when he greeted me as 'fellow sentinel.' Simon, the guy is a fruitcake." 

Simon laughed. "Well, it's over. Hey, where is Sandburg anyway?" 

"Practicing." Jim shot Simon an evil grin. "Tomorrow's the day. Oh, and Eli Stoddard, Blair's advisor, has let me know when and where. The party's at Ginty's at five, and everybody is invited. Stoddard figures that's a good time -- the defense starts at one, and not even Blair could talk longer than that." 

"I'll believe that when I see it. Pass the word out in the bullpen. As long as we've got our cells, everybody can go. Make sure Rhonda knows, too, and she'll pass it on." 

"Will do." 

"Dr. Blair Sandburg," Simon mused, shaking his head and chuckling. 

"Uh, sir," Jim said, on his way out the door, "I wouldn't call him that for a while, actually." 

"Why not?" 

"Uh..." Jim's ears turned pink. "Just trust me on it." 

* * *

"Well, Dr. Sandburg, congratulations." 

Blair had never in his life been more grateful for the tweed jacket Jim had purchased for him last Christmas -- it hid a multitude of sins. Such as the huge sweat stains under his arms and down his back from speaking to his committee and waiting for their decision. When it was buttoned, it also hid his body's interesting reaction to anyone calling him Dr. Sandburg -- which he was simply going to have to get over. Flushed, he grinned at Eli Stoddard and took the hand offered. "Eli, I am just... wow." 

Stoddard laughed. "Blair, I never thought I'd see the day when you ran out of words. But for an occasion like this, I can't say I'm disappointed. Congratulations, m'boy. It was well deserved." 

Blair couldn't stop grinning. Members of his committee, friends from campus, even a few friends from the precinct all stopped by to congratulate, hug, kiss and pound him on the back. Rhonda was there and tearfully hugged him, seeming to be as proud of him as she would have been of her own child. Oddly enough, no one else was there from Major Crime, and Blair was becoming a bit concerned. Jim had told him he'd be there unless the world ended, and Blair had believed him... but he emerged from the committee room only to find no Jim. 

Disentangling himself from a cluster of well-wishers, he found the backpack he had stashed in a corner of the banquet room Eli had reserved, intending to pull out his cell phone. He had turned it off for the presentation, but now turned it back on to see if there were any messages -- and there were. Before he could call, however, another man approached him to offer congratulations. 

"Dr. Sandburg, congratulations," the man said quietly, offering his hand. Blair took it and then blinked. The face was oddly familiar but he couldn't place it. 

"Ah, thank you," he said, frowning, racking his brain. The middle-aged man was dressed in a conservative suit, his jacket a match to Blair's, right down to the leather elbow patches. He had a pipe in his breast pocket and a book under one arm. 

"It's a lovely vindication for you, I'm sure," the man said quietly. "Our field has gained quite a new star." 

The ringing of Blair's phone distracted him, and by the time he glanced back up to respond with his thanks, the man was gone. Instead, he answered his phone to find Jim on the other end. "Chief?" 

"Jim! Where are you, man?" 

"God, I'm sorry, babe, I wanted to be there so badly... Everything went fine, right? You survived?" 

Laughing, almost giddy, Blair confirmed that. "Yeah, yeah, I survived... and I passed. My shirt and jacket will probably never be the same, but everything's fine. Where are you?" 

Jim blew out a big breath, and Blair could almost see his shoulders relax through the phone. "I told you so, you big worry-wart. As for where I am... God. You're not gonna believe who waltzed out of Conover earlier today, Chief. He was supposed to be in a security wing but --" 

"Jim!" Blair looked up sharply -- and saw the door of Ginty's close behind a herringbone jacket. He knew who that mysterious scholar was; and though Jim kept saying "What, Sandburg? _What_?" all Blair could do was laugh. 

* * *

End SVS2-14: Who You Gonna Call? by Fox and MrsHamill: FiveSenses@yahoogroups.com

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